


Three of you

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Deductions, Deductions ruining a surprise, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Humour, Idiots in Love, John Watson is a Good Boyfriend, John Watson is a Good Parent, John is not getting enough sleep, M/M, Parentlock, Romance, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Sherlock's Birthday, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: He’s been trying so hard to keep this a secret, and with the detective’s special day only three days away he had been confident in having succeeded. It would have been the first time in their friendship and subsequent relationship.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	Three of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockWatson_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWatson_Holmes/gifts).



> Thank you, Amelia, for your help <3

„I’ve got it!“

John is suddenly pulled from sleep by being pushed up and off Sherlock’s chest. As frustrating as that is, it feels like he’s been woken up more nights than he’s slept through since Sherlock and him started sharing a bed.

Two years and thirty-seven days.

The thought makes John smile and he wonders if he is insane for loving this mad genius as much as he does.

“What’ve you got?” John murmurs, eyes still closed, as he pulls the duvet tighter around himself. He’s not completely given up on getting a bit more sleep. Next to him, Sherlock is rearranging himself to lie down beside him, one long arm wrapping around John's Stomach.

This is an experiment then, not a case. Good. At least, they can snuggle for a bit as John tries to keep up with his boyfriend’s rambling, and he’s going to do his best to stay awake, wanting to be an attentive partner to the world’s most clever man Is hard sometimes, but Sherlock deserves it.

There is no answer at first, instead warm lips press against his shoulder in a flutter of kisses, the body behind him buzzing with excitement.

“You’re getting me a dog for my birthday.” Sherlock spits out so quickly, that John takes a moment to process what he has just said. When he does, a sense of dread and disappointment fills his gut. He’s been trying so hard to keep this a secret, and with the detective’s special day only three days away he had been confident in having succeeded. It would have been the first time in their friendship and subsequent relationship.

“Oh, come on.” He huffs, reaching up to rub his palm over his face.

“It is obvious, isn’t it? You’ve been telling Rosie with such persistence that you won’t allow a dog. She’s been asking you over and over, and you usually can’t tell her no.” Sherlock is still tracing kisses along his shoulder and arm. “I have been supporting her cause, as you might have noticed.”

Of course, John has. He thinks back to the past four months and to the different tactics Sherlock used to try to convince him. It started with the pictures of puppies being sent to his phone. He didn’t think anything of it at first, beyond Sherlock relaying his love for dogs. Then he noticed a pattern. The pictures were perfectly timed, correlating with John’s good moods and tender moments. John might not be a genius, but he knows enough about psychology to realise when he is being conditioned, connecting positive feelings with seeing a cute puppy. It was clever, John admitted, but not clever enough.

“I presented you with evidence, John. As a doctor, you are usually open to scientific research of which I presented you plenty. You should remember that study, about…”

“The one about kids profiting from being raised with pets? Family harmony, learning responsibility and stuff?” John turns, facing Sherlock. He can roughly make out his silhouette in the dark, but knowing his partner well enough, his lips end up where he wants them, pressing a kiss to the root of Sherlock’s nose, just between his eyebrows. “I remember.”

“I thought it was very convincing. I even read that more emotionally charged article to you, had you present when clients gushed over their dogs, but you were persistent.”

“Almost as persistent as you.” John smiles, lips resting against Sherlock’s forehead, as he closes his eyes again. He’s still a bit disappointed over having been found out, but the way Sherlock is proud of his own cleverness always touches something deep within him.

“At first, I thought you didn’t like dogs, and I watched you interact with them.” There is a lot of interaction, as Rosie wants to pet every dog in regents park. Sherlock taught her to ask first, to be gentle and to read the animal’s body language. She soaked it up like a sponge, as she did Sherlock’s love for dogs. “You don’t react fearful or hesitant, even when faced with a large dog. You talk to them in a similar voice you used on Rosie when she was still a baby, higher than usual, and very tender. So, not liking dogs couldn’t be the solution to this case.”

“It’s a case, now?”

“Of course, it is. Shut up.” Sherlock wiggles a bit, to put a bit of distance between them, but he doesn’t do it quick enough to escape the poke John delivers to his side.

“You woke me up. No need for further rudeness.” John says, knowing there will not be a learning effect as he does so with a grin. Sherlock does keep his distance, though, retreating further onto his side of the bed.

“Then, I considered whether you were just very convinced by your own arguments.” He raises his hands into quotes, or at least that is what John believes he is doing, eyes not quite yet used to the dark. “We are raising a four-year-old, Sherlock. We are busy people, dogs take time.”

“That’s not what I sound like.” John grins, reaching out for Sherlock’s hand and kissing the palm.

“It is, John. Anyway, I knew you weren’t convinced of what you were arguing for, and my first assumption was that you just were afraid of doing something wrong with our puppy. But that was an incorrect assumption as well. You know me, know how much energy but into the things I am passionate about. You would know that I would prepare for a dog in the best way possible, spreadsheets and schedules included.”

Sherlock is in rambling mode now, and John needs to put an end to that. He does so, by crawling over and muffling the beginnings of a new sentence with his lips pressing against Sherlock’s. What is planned to be a distraction turns into John getting lost in the feeling of the detective’s soft, warm mouth, the long fingers tangling in his hair.

“It’s almost embarrassing that it took me so long to bring your true motives to light.” Sherlock pulls him closer, again, hands slipping under the waistband of John’s pyjama bottoms to rest on John’s buttocks. It is not a sexual gesture, nor is it a possessive one. Sherlock just seems to like to hold on to them.

“I almost thought I got away with it.” John catches the disappointment seeping through, and he bites his lips. Sherlock can’t help but deduce people, his brain taking in every detail without being able to hold back or reign it in. John doesn’t want him to feel bad about this, not when he had to struggle with people being hateful towards him just for his genius. it’s better that Sherlock is telling him now, instead of trying to faint surprise once they reach the shelter to choose a puppy.

“I…” They say simultaneously, then smile.

“I’ll do better, next time.” John rests his head against Sherlock’s chest. “One day, I’ll get you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Sherlock rubs his nose against John’s scalp. “When I’m eighty and demented.”

He gets another poke to the ribs for that.

John wakes up to a wet snout brushing against his cheek, and he is awake in an instant. “Oh god damn it.” He murmurs, picking Pepper up and placing her on the floor. “Not on the bed.” He tells her, trying his best to look strict.

She follows him when he slips into his slippers and walks to the kitchen. In the three weeks John Watson has been a dog owner he hasn’t slept through a single night.

“Come on then, girl. Let’s see if you need to pee, and then we’re going back to bed.” He slips into his jacket and hooks the puppy’s leash onto her dark blue collar. She pants at him excitedly, and he scratches her behind her ears. “No, I’m going back to bed, and you’re going to your crate. That was the deal.” He corrects, which doesn’t seem to impress.

Quietly, as to not wake any of the residents of 221b, they slip out of the door. It’s cold, January holding London in it's rainy, frigid, grip and John pulls his coat closer as he watches Pepper sniff around and finally find the perfect spot to pee. She’s getting better at indicating when she needs to go out, Sherlock’s rigorous house-training showing some results.

He came prepared as an expert on dogs long before they went to the shelter to pick Pepper up. Knowing that was the reason why John had even planned the surprise. Too often, animals were given as a present to a someone who wasn’t aware of the responsibility. Their puppy had been a Christmas gift to a eight-year-old, and had ended up in the shelter not two weeks after, the parents overwhelmed with what owning a dog meant. Sherlock is the opposite. He has lists and spreadsheets, has read about every book on the topic to compare them and find the ultimate way to raise a dog. And he loves Pepper. He takes his time, as patient with her as he is with Rosie. The four of them go to the park so she can meet other dogs and play.

It’s exhausting sometimes, especially the first nights when she cried for hours, but it is so rewarding to see Sherlock smile at her. She’s become part of their odd little family already.

“Come on, Peps, let’s go back inside before I freeze something off.” John calls, and she seems to agree, following him back up Baker Street and into the flat. He removes the leash, and she runs off. John puts his jacket back on the hook, uses the loo himself and returns to the bedroom.

Sherlock is laying on his belly, hair a dark halo and face smushed into the pillow. He’s snoring a bit, as a result of the cold he had battled last week and he has wrapped an arm around Rosie, who must have crawled into bed with them way before Pepper did. His daughter has her teddy clutched to her chest, hands in tiny fists and hair glowing in the dim light coming from the hallway. 

Sometimes John cant believe that he had a part in creating the wonderful human being that is Rosamund Mary Watson, that she is such a kind soul when the first years of her life had been so difficult. He will never stop regretting handing her off, will always try to make up for that time, even though she does not have any memory of it.

His moment of sentiment is cut short when his gaze brushes over over the white and black lump curled up to where John’s feet usually are. Pepper lifts her head as if she knows she has been spotted and tilts it a bit to the side to look at him. John doesn’t stand a chance against those dark, deep eyes. He turns to switch off the light and crawls under the duvet, finding what little space is left to lie down.

“Oh well, I guess I have three of you now, don’t I?”

On the other side of the bed, Sherlock smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> puuupppieeees


End file.
